


What Love hath Wrought

by shimere277



Category: Drake's Venture (1980)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, Ironic Twist, M/M, Prequel, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 23:25:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimere277/pseuds/shimere277
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas gives in to sin - and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Love hath Wrought

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's 2009 i_mop (International Month of Porn) challenge.

Thomas has never been this in love before, so he has rehearsed again and again in his mind for the question that he knows is inevitable: "No."

He tries to work up a sufficient amount of outraged pride that a son of a yeoman would dare top ask such a thing. He tries to shame himself into repugnance at the sin he knows this is. He tries to be afraid of the consequences if such a thing were discovered.

He aims at such a haughty and cutting dismissal that the question need never be broached again.

But when the time comes – this time – he notices something about Francis' manner that reminds him of a winsome child. The part of him that steels itself is disarmed; instead his lips mouth the absurd and inappropriate question, "Dost thou love me then?"

Francis stares, startled, then bursts into uproarious laughter. "Thomas Doughtie, ne'er was there a maid of Devon who did not react to the selfsame question with the selfsame words!" His laughter is infectious; Doughtie's stern refusal is swept away in an instant. And then, "But to thee, I would say, aye, and my tongue would not lie."

The whole world turns liquid; Doughtie knows suddenly what it is to swoon. Then lips and tongue meet, they are on the bed, pressed together on the bed, too many layers of stiff velvet between them. Doughtie has wanted this, something like this, his whole life. But now every drop of resolve seems only a safeguard that served a clear purpose: save this pleasure for Francis. "I am virgin, my captain," Doughtie whispers.

"With thy doe-eyes and fine legs? I believe that not," says Drake, but his tone indicates that he is pleased, very pleased. Doughtie understands suddenly that what this man takes he will want to own. Pride and piety and propriety take one last stand. Doughtie pushes them aside. He's in love, he's in love with the famous Captain Drake, how splendid to belong to him.

"Show me what thou wilt have me do," he says.

"Show thyself to me," says Drake, "for thou art beautiful among men, my leman."

Thomas has never been shy about his beauty before, but he is now. He removes doublet and shirt, exposing the lean line, the faint curl of hair upon his chest. He unlaces his codpiece, allows britches and stockings to fall to the floor. He flushes, lowering his eyes, as Drake stares at his erection.

"Thou art finely crafted, Thomas," says Drake, placing a calloused hand upon Thomas' cock. Doughtie gasps. He cannot believe that this is happening. The world is a wall of fire; he's not sure what he wants, only that Francis will touch him and touch him again, that they will kiss again and not stop.

Francis strips quickly. Doughtie has seen him naked before, as they retired for the night, or before a quick swim in a convenient brook. Doughtie has admired his compact, muscular build before. Doughtie has tried to push away the love, the admiration, the lust. He no longer cares to try. Now he just wants to give himself over.

Drake fetches a pot of scented cream from a cupboard. Then there are two fingers inside of Thomas, slicking him, touching him, finding a sweet spot that Thomas never knew existed. He's been with women, he's used his own hand, but this is something new to him, and it makes him breathless. Then his heels are propped on Drake's shoulders.

Drake is slow, very slow. "Aye, thou art tight as a virgin," he says. "I could e'en believe thee."

Thomas has seen illustrations of this, the books of Arretino when he traveled in Italy. He remembers the heat, the excitement that he felt in the sight, but he never imagined what it would feel like to be taken. He opens himself wider, wanting Drake to take him harder and deeper. His cock bobs helplessly against his stomach; he thinks for a moment that he will need to take it in hand, but then realizes how much better it will be if he doesn't, how much better to leave the giving of pleasure to Drake only.

Drake digs his nails into Thomas' sides; he thrusts hard and fast. Thomas can't stop the electric jolt of pleasure, the sudden throbbing release. It's never been this good before. He wants Drake inside of him, never to stop.

Drake gasps and thrusts again, hard. Then he is shaking, lying forward on Thomas, his hips grinding into the gentleman.

For a moment all is still. Then their eyes meet and there is only love. There is no more question of whether Thomas will go with Francis when he leaves Ireland. The position he has been promised at court is too cold, too far away. They will go to Crete, to Alexandria, to Tunis. Thomas will feel at home there, that exotic land where men love men without fear. He will feel only the slightest regret ten years later, when England falls to Spain.


End file.
